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Tuesday, March 14, 2017

No snow yet, but the air is ominous, and a small wind is kicking up. Our forecast has been upgraded to "blizzard," which means that I ought to go wine shopping first thing this morning. Silly me for forgetting it.

And now a teaspoon of flakes floats in the glow of the streetlamps. In the distance a dog barks and barks and barks. The sky is a Blakean navy blue, a shade lighter than the navy blue sea. In a moment or two the sun will rise, and the colors will recede to gray. But for now it all impends.

I will write and read and edit today. And do laundry and think of something or other for dinner. And walk out into the storm.

The man turns and there—
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world.